The Shamy Book Club Incidentals
by April in Paris
Summary: The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation met 306 times. We were privy to 58 pivotal Shamy Book Club meetings, but what happened during the other 248 incidental book discussions? An exploration of the unexpected moments - and books - that make up our lives. SHAMYVERSE
1. Hidden Figures

_**The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation met 306 times. We were privy to 58 pivotal Shamy Book Club meetings, but what happened during the other 248 incidental book discussions? An exploration of the unexpected moments - and books - that make up our lives.**_

* * *

 **The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

 **January 2025**

 **Primary Topic: _Hidden Figures_ by Margot Lee Shetterly _  
_**

 **Additional book(s) mentioned:** ** _Women in Science - 50 Fearless Pioneers Who Changed the World_ by Rachel Ignotofsky, _The Glass Universe_ by Dava Sobel, _The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage: The (Mostly) True Story of the First Computer_ by Sydney Padua, _Hedy's Folly: The Life and Breakthrough Inventions of Hedy Lamarr, the Most Beautiful Woman in the World_ by Richard Rhodes**

* * *

". . . forty-eight . . . forty-nine . . . fifty!"

Amy watched Ada placing each individual sprinkle with care on top of the newly frosted cupcake, before shaking some more out on her hand. "One . . . two -"

"Why are you counting the sprinkles?" she asked.

Ada sighed - _so much like Sheldon!_ \- and looked up, her father's eyes behind her glasses. "So that everyone gets the same amount."

"Why, though? They are so small no one will notice if one cupcake has a few more or a few less sprinkles than another."

"But I'll know." Ada blinked slowly - purposefully, Amy would have said - and looked back down at the fresh pastry in front of her. "Three . . . four . . . five . . ."

Opening her mouth to ask why fifty sprinkles then, and not, oh, say seven for her daughter's seventh birthday, Amy shut it again without comment. It wasn't worth making a fuss about. If it made Ada happy that was enough; it was her birthday-eve after all, and, of course, she was Sheldon's child.

Thinking of Sheldon, Amy looked down at her watch. She thought he'd be home by now. The demonstrations after work for potential donors couldn't be avoided despite his repeated attempts over the years to recuse himself from such gatherings, wisely pointing out that his work was theoretical whereas it was Leonard and Howard who engineered and built the equipment that would be demonstrated. Surely, though, he should be on his way home by now.

Amy let Ada continue to count as she put the last of the baking supplies away and the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Looking over at her daughter, she smiled at her performing the studious task, oblivious to Amy watching her. How was it possible her baby, her beautiful baby girl, was going to be seven tomorrow? Ada looked so old today, with her hair pulled back in the front like that. Her height only added to the effect. She should have been all knobby knees and pointy elbows at her height, but she carried her frame with such a poise at such a young age that Amy couldn't help but be jealous. Still in her school uniform, she was even dressed sensibility and not in one of her usual outrageous choices. Her new adult teeth came in straight and didn't seem too big for her mouth at all, unlike poor Fenny. Even the scar on her lower lip, that jagged pink reminder of the horrible events in Texas the past summer, was quickly fading.

Belle sat on the empty stool next to Ada at the island, almost inseparable from her human, her little orange feline head poking up over the lip of the countertop. She, too, was studying the sprinkle laying with great seriousness.

Shaking her head slightly, Amy went to the dining table to pick up her iPad and scanned her new emails. Mostly nothing important but there was one from Missy, asking if Ada's birthday present had arrived and mentioning that her sons were excited about the forecast for an exceedingly rare East Texas snow storm the next weekend. Amy sent back a quick reply (the gift had arrived, thank you, and she hoped Levi and Ezra wouldn't be too disappointed if the forecast collapsed) and then opened the daily email form sent by Ada's teacher. She quickly skimmed the grades given today (all A's) and the behavior report (acceptable, no incidents of concern) and read the announcements at the bottom, stopping at the second one down.

"Oh, Ada, the science fair is next month. We need to start thinking about your project. Do you have any ideas?"

"I'm not doing it," Ada said, pouring more sprinkles out into her hand.

"What?" Amy looked up.

"Mr. Swann said we don't have to. One . . . two . . ."

Amy looked back down, reading the rest of the paragraph with a deepening frown. Ada was correct, the announcement did in fact say "for those children desiring to participate, extra credit will be given."

"So the science fair is optional this year? Just for extra credit?" she asked. Ada nodded confirmation without a pause in her counting. "And you don't want to participate?"

A vigorous shake of her daughter's head. "No - thirty-three - it's boring! - thirty-four . . . "

Confused by this state of events, Amy furrowed her brows. She was baffled why a STEM magnet school would no longer require participation in the annual science fair, but she was even more concerned about why her child prodigy, the daughter of two scientists, didn't want to take part in the event, what she meant when she said it was boring. Sheldon would be crushed. Or worse. It would be ideal to have all the correct information before presenting the news to him, but he received the same email she did every evening and it was only a matter of time -

Before she could inquire into any of those concerns, though, there was the sound of keys in the lock and the door swung open and Sheldon entered, calling, "Good evening, my ladies!"

"Welcome home!" Amy smiled at him, always happy to see him, but also relieved he seemed to be in a good mood, before she turned sharply to Ada. "Ada, your father is speaking to you."

". . . fifty! I was counting!" Ada looked up.

"It doesn't matter. It's rude not to acknowledge someone when they are speaking to you. Besides, you can count to fifty in your sleep," Amy admonished, setting her iPad back on the table.

"And in Spanish, also," Sheldon added. He was taking off his jacket and hanging it in the closet and the rustling movement allowed the edge of a yellow plastic sack to show.

"You went to the store without me?" Ada yelled, jumping down off the counter stool to run over to her father. There was no question about which store she was referencing; Uncle Stuart's comic book shop was one of her favorite locations.

"Sorry, your uncles all wanted to go," Sheldon explained. Then he reached into the bag. "But look what I got you to make up for it."

Ada grabbed the slender soft-cover magazine and threw her lanky body around Sheldon's waist. " _Agent Hikari_! Thanks, Dad!"

"You're very welcome," Sheldon replied, patting the top of her head even as he looked over at Amy and smiled.

Initially, Amy had been worried that a series of comic books about a young girl pulled from the Japanese interment camps to serve as a double-agent during World War II would be too violent or confusing for her young daughter, even if they were in the juvenile section. But she had been impressed with the educational merit - the very last issue had Hikari breaking a code by having to know all the words to the Declaration of Independence, which she and Mother had helped Ada look up and crack on her own on Christmas Day, the three of them huddled at the table, drinking hot chocolate - and the moral stances the protagonist would take. Just last month, an incident occurred in the playroom when fellow-fan Jacob suggested the children play "interment camp" by imprisoning the younger children and Ada lectured him on the evils of just such a scenario.

"But wait!" Ada pulled back, clutching the new comic. "Does this mean we can't go on Saturday? It's the first Saturday of the month."

"We'll still go," Sheldon replied. "To the comic book store and . . . everything."

In order to hide her smirk, Amy walked over to the now completed cupcakes to cover them for the Friday night dinner at Leonard and Penny's the following evening. She didn't want her face to give away the fact that she knew all about their secrets trips to McDonalds after the comic book store, that she had known for years, ever since her toddler had come home smelling like French fries and her husband had been ineffectively evasive.

"You're the best, Dad!" Ada turned. "Come on, Belle, let's go read!"

"It's eight o'clock, put your pajamas on! I'll be in to read with you in awhile!" Amy called after her, but her statement was not returned by the retreating blurs of copper hair and orange fur. She sighed softly at being forgotten.

"I suppose you think I spoil her," Sheldon said, coming over to her side, looking down at the cupcakes before Amy shut the lid on the container over them. He grunted approval; there just weren't exactly fifty sprinkles on top of each one, but also identical fractal-based patterns. They were lovely: delicate and precise.

"No. It's her birthday tomorrow." Amy shrugged.

"It's actually why we went. That comic I gave her is Volume One, and Howard picked up Volume Two to be her gift from Jacob," Sheldon explained. "Jacob knew it was coming out and wanted to get it for her."

Cleaning off the counter, Amy nodded. "Jacob knows her well."

"But look what else I got her." Sheldon's eyes flashed and he held out a black hardbound volume with a flourish. " _Women in Science - 50 Fearless Pioneers Who Changed the World_."

"Oh!" Amy's eyebrows went up in pleasure. "It's a comic book?"

"A non-fiction juvenile graphic novel. Stuart said someone brought it in for trade. I'm normally opposed to used books, but it appears to be in pristine condition and Stuart reassured me that they appeared to have exemplary personal hygiene standards," he explained.

"It's a great idea, Sheldon." She put away the cleaning cloth and reached for book, turning the pages as her smiled broadened. The illustrations were charming, but she was especially pleased at the amount of text and the diversity of the careers explored on its pages. "I love it!" she exclaimed, looking up with a smile. Then she let it drop. "Although maybe we've already bought her too much for her birthday. _Are_ we spoiling her? Should we save it for some other time?"

"Is there every really a better time to learn about science?" Sheldon asked, taking the book from her and putting it down on the counter. "It's always the right time for another book on the subject."

Amy couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm despite her internal misgivings about the science fair news she'd be forced to convey at some point this evening. "Okay, you win. We'll wrap it up later. Have you eaten? I could reheat dinner for you."

"We ate." Sheldon shook his head and then asked, "How about Book Club? Is this a good time?"

"It's always the right time for another Book Club," Amy replied, still smiling and taking his hand in hers as they walked together toward the sofa. Amy pressed Sheldon's hand gently before letting it go so that they could sit down, each of them in the spots they had honed over the years. Their iKindles were already on the coffee table; Amy had placed them there herself while the cupcakes were baking, in anticipation of just this moment.

"Two books, Amy? What prompted that decision?" Sheldon asked, settling in and turning toward her.

"I couldn't decide. I wanted to read them both so badly and then it occurred to me that the answer was obvious. They should be read together because they are both about female computers dealing with the stars, although in different times and places," she explained. "Besides, I submitted my final findings just before Christmas, and I'm a little bit at loose ends in the lab, trying to turn my mind to something completely new." She shrugged.

Concern marked Sheldon's face as he reached for her hand again. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it's so silly, I guess. I worked for years on this theory, I poured everything into my research, and now I have let it go and find something new that interests me as much." She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. Sheldon's countenance was still etched in concern, which wasn't at all what she wanted him to be feeling.

"It's not that I doubt the veracity or value of my work," she continued, "I know it's good, I know it's groundbreaking, I know it's important. I just meant that maybe it was silly to struggle finding a new project. Shouldn't a scientist be eager to jump into the next field of research? There's always something knew to learn, something new to discover. Like in _Hidden Figures_ ," Amy reached forward to pick up her iKindle, "Dorothy Vaughn grasps how important it is stay abreast of all the new developments, she knows that if she doesn't embrace and learn how to use the new electronic computers that she will be left in the dust."

"You're not going to be left in the dust," Sheldon said with conviction. "You've discovered proof of a completely new type of micro-neurotransmitter that is going to rock the very foundation of medicine!" Then softer: "You deserve a bit of a break, anyway, you've been working so hard. A new idea will come to you, I'm sure."

Nodding, Amy reached over and squeezed his hand again. "Thank you for understanding." She took a breath. "And, yes, I should be enjoying this reprieve. If my study is as well-received as I think it will be, I'll probably be very busy soon. I should enjoy the chance to read two books for Book Club while I can."

"Before I forget, I do have a question," Sheldon started, pulling his hand away. "Why did we never see the movie based on _Hidden Figures_? I remember the commercials, but why didn't we go see it? It has some famous people in it, like Kevin Costner."

Amy laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"It's funny because it I looked it up, too! The national distribution was in January 2017. I think we just ran out of time. It was just after Christmas, _Passangers_ and _R_ _ogue One_ had just come out, there were new _Sherlocks_ and _Victoria_ was on Masterpiece. I don't know. But, speaking of the book, who's that other guy in the movie? Paul Stafford is the character's name, I think. But he's not a historical figure in the book, I even searched for his name in the index."

Sheldon shrugged. "I think he must be a compilation of all the sexist and racist people at Langley. Whoever he is, I don't like him."

"It's a shame because he looks really hot in the photos - so tall!"

"Amy!" her husband protested.

"Not as hot as you, dear," Amy soothed, running her hand down his arm. "No matter who that actor is, you'll always be my favorite scientist."

He studied her face for a moment, until Amy wiggled her eyebrows at him and she saw the edge of his lips turn up.

"Okay, Book Club. _Hidden Figures_ and _The Glass Universe_. Did you like one book better than the other or did they both live up to your hopes?" Sheldon asked.

"Oh, _Hidden Figures_ is a far superior book," Amy said quickly.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "That was decisive! Why?"

" _The Glass Universe_ was so poorly researched."

"No, it wasn't," Sheldon protested. "I thought there were a lot of details about the early classifications of stars, the way they were photographed and discovered. Granted, it's more of Raj's interest then mine, but I found it a perfectly respectable explanation for the lay person."

"Okay, yes, I will admit it was a well-researched and concise book of facts. What you just said is true -"

"But you said it was poorly researched. I'm confused." His eyebrows sank.

"I meant it was only well researched about the science but not anything else. What really bothered me about it was that it only focused on the work and not on the social forces at play in these women's life."

"But I thought you would like that. You're a scientist, these women were scientists," Sheldon pointed out.

"Yes, but a woman's profession doesn't exist in a vacuum." Amy put her hand out. "Neither does a man's, or at least not anymore, but for a woman, especially a Victorian woman, there is so much that could have and should have been discussed."

"Expound."

"Well, for starters, none of the characters seemed to have a personality and only a few had physical descriptions." She paused to gather her thoughts and Sheldon spoke, "But there was photographic section."

"Yes, but - well, in _Hidden Figures_ there were no photographs and we still got a physical sense of the woman. We were told if they were petit or not, for example."

"I would have thought you would agree that a person's physical appearance isn't as important as their other, non-physical attributes, primarily their intelligence."

Sighing, Amy said, "When you say it that way, you're correct. I just meant it would have helped make the history feel more alive, it would have helped me visualize them."

Sheldon nodded. "Actually, I understand that. As you have proven to me, beauty and brains can very successfully live in the same body."

Blushing, Amy pushed some of her hair aside. Her rapidly graying hair, no matter how often Sheldon tried to convince her it was silver. From the mouth of a less honest man, it would have just been a line, some sort meaningless compliment to gain favor. But from Sheldon . . . his compliments, while rare, were always sincere.

"Honestly, the lack of physical description is minor complaint - after all, there aren't really that many descriptions in _Hidden Figures_ \- and I probably wouldn't have minded or mentioned it if _The Glass Universe_ had addressed the work of these women within the boarder social contexts of the day."

"I did notice that the Nineteenth Amendment was barely mentioned. I had thought that at least something would be said about what the women thought of such an advancement in their lives," Sheldon said.

"Exactly! But it wasn't just that. I mean, that is a huge change in the lives of woman, and, yes, it should be discussed, but I'm even talking about the every day lives these women led. Almost nothing was said about most of the women outside of their education and work at the Harvard observatory. Were they married? Did they have children? Other family members? What did their family members think of their work? Where they supported or demonized for stepping out of social norms at the time?" Amy raised her hand and started picking points off on her fingers. "There is almost no discussion of wage disparity, sexual harassment, theft and degradation of their intelligential property, and the general misogyny at the time. Even if these ladies were lucky enough to live and work in an unlikely Victorian utopia without these problems, shouldn't at least a paragraph have been devoted to explaining that anomaly?"

Sheldon tilted his head. "You're right."

"Oh course I am."

He grimaced. "Now I feel like a bad person for not noticing all that. I'm just like that Paul Stafford guy! I guess I was just too caught up in the science."

Amy reached for his hand. "I think that it didn't help that I read _Hidden Figures_ immediately preceding _The Glass Universe_. _Hidden Figures_ excelled at all of that. Everything was so well balanced, the science, the struggles the woman experienced both from sexism but also from racism, how they reacted to outside events that impacted them like desegregation. It was a wonderful book, I just loved it." She grinned and finally opened the iKindle she had picked up at the being of their discussion. "Here, I marked this: 'They matched their males colleagues in curiosity, passion and the ability to withstand pressure. Their path to advancement might look less like a straight line and more like some of the pressure distributions and orbits they plotted, but they were determined to take a seat at the table.'" She glanced up. "And then this, about Katherine Goble Jonson: "She always kept up the questioning until she received a satisfactory answer. Her requests were gentle but persistent, like the trickle of water that eventually forces its way through rock. She asked early, she asked often, and she asking penetrating questions about the work.'"

Closing her book, Amy look over at her husband. "I just found it so inspiring. Sometimes, when you're slugging through a tedious work day, a day in which you're just filling in blanks that are necessary but not complex, it's easy to forget the importance of your career, what all the woman who have come before had done for you, in order to allow you to do what you love."

Sheldon grinned at her, and there was a pause of silence before Amy shook her head. "I'm sorry, what did you think of them? I've been monopolizing this conversation."

"I liked you monopolizing." Sheldon patted her knee. "I always like it when you're enthusiastic about your work, and I love Book Clubs when you're so excited about the book." A beat. "I liked them both. Of course, I was approaching it scientifically, so I guess I preferred _Hidden Figures_ since it was more about physics than _The Glass Universe_ , but I still enjoyed them. I've added them both to Ada's list."

Amy smiled at the reminder that Sheldon kept on ongoing list of books to give to and share with Ada when she reached the appropriate intellectual capacity to understand them. He had just recently given her a copy of _The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage_ , a book from another Book Club ages ago; Amy had enjoyed sitting on their bed in the evenings, supposedly reading her own book, but she really listened to Sheldon and Ada across the hall reading it aloud and discussing it. Ada was thrilled it was graphic novel about someone with her name, and Sheldon was thrilled she was so excited about science.

"You should add that biography about Hedy Lamarr I read a few years ago; I'll look up the title for you," Amy suggested.

"Excellent idea! Ada will be so excited to have even more female science role models!"

"Oh." She remembered. "So, speaking of Ada and science, I have something to tell you." Amy bit the edge of her lip.

"What?" Sheldon's eyes brow went up and she already heard the worry in his voice.

"It's nothing bad -" she quickly put her hand out "- or anything to get up upset and emotional about."

"So it is bad but I shouldn't upset about it?"

"No. Yes. Well, maybe." Amy took a gulp of air. "Ada is contemplating not participating in the school science fair this year."

"What?" Sheldon gasped and pulled away on the sofa, his hand reaching up to clutch his chest. "What!"

"I told you not to get upset!" Amy hissed. "Ada will hear you."

"She should hear me! What do you mean not participating?"

"Apparently it's now optional. According to Ada - and the daily email from her teacher seems to support her claim - the science fair is no longer mandatory."

"What a load of poppycock!" Sheldon exploded, standing sharply and pacing. "We are sending her to the STEM-magnet school for the academically gifted! There is a waiting list! Why would STEM-related activities be optional?"

"Sheldon." Amy said it sharply, but quietly. "Please sit down so that we can discuss this calmly. I asked you not to get upset."

"I don't see how that's possible given the shock you've delivered to me." But he flopped down next to her. "And Ada! Why doesn't she want to participate? She has defend herself against her grievous loss last year. She was robbed!"

"I don't know; we got interrupted when you got home. She did . . ." Amy grimaced ". . . say it was boring."

"Ouuuuuuhhhhh!" Sheldon let out a painful cry and buried his face in his palms. "Where did we go wrong? We're complete parenting failures! Our daughter thinks science is boring."

"I don't think she thinks science is boring, she just said the science fair was. She's only six -"

"Seven."

"Okay, seven tomorrow. Even seven-year-olds say things they don't mean sometimes. We just need to get to the bottom of this." Amy tentatively put her hand on Sheldon's shoulder. "Besides, she always says that math is her favorite subject and we both know that math is an essential building block for a future career in science."

" _And_ art," Sheldon said without looking up. "She says her favorite subjects are math _and_ art. Always the two of them. As if anyone will ever win the Nobel Prize for those two things, let alone those two things together."

"Sheldon, we're not talking about the Nobel Prize, we're talking about an elementary school science fair," Amy said more firmly. This was going even worse than she feared.

"But it could be the very first stepping stone in what could be a highly laudable -"

"Dad?"

Amy gasped and turned to see Ada standing at the edge of the room, in her pajamas just as she'd been instructed to do, clutching her new comic book to her chest.

"Oh, Ada, we didn't see you there," Amy said, weakly, as she felt her face flush. How long had Ada been standing there? How much had she heard? It had been a mistake to have this conversation here, now; Amy knew she should have waited until she and Sheldon were tucked in bed, two doors firmly shut between them and their sleeping child.

"I'm sorry, I should be coming in to read with you, I know I'm late," she said, instead, as she started to get up.

"I have a question for Dad," Ada replied, and Amy let her weight fall back into the sofa.

"Sure, kiddo, what is it?" Sheldon asked, his voice usually quiet for him.

Ada trotted over and held out her comic book to an open page. "How does surveying work?"

"Surveying?" Sheldon asked, even has he opened his arms and pulled her up onto his lap. "Like surveying property?"

"I guess." Ada shrugged. "Hikari says she has to survey to find the underground cable that the Japanese use to send orders. I don't understand these graphs."

So either they weren't overheard or Ada didn't internalize their conversation. Amy let out a small breath. All that mattered is that Ada didn't seemed bothered by it as she was too busy focusing on her favorite World War II spy.

"That's because this is trigonometry, something you haven't learned yet. But it's not so complicated. Let's pretend this room is Japan - Wait!"

Amy glanced over at Sheldon's sudden, loud self-interruption. "You know what, Ada? Your mother is the ideal person to explain this to you. She's an exceptional scientist, you know, and she's about to be a very famous one. You and your mother don't need me, or any man, to explain and help you with your science. You already have everything you need to succeed -" he gently tapped the top Ada's head - "right here."

Their eyes met over their daughter's head. Amy wouldn't have minded in the least if Sheldon had explained the trigonometry of surveying to Ada; honestly, it had been years since she'd had to think about it and she hoped she wouldn't make an error. But Ada's open, curious face was turned toward her.

"Okay, yes, surveying," Amy said to her, standing, glancing around the room and trying to decide what to do next. "Maybe, though, even though we don't need help from Dad or any man, we might ask him to help? Because it's very important to learn to work with everyone in our scientific endeavors, because everyone has something unique to bring to the discussion, because everyone has ideas, right?"

Ada seemed to consider this and then nodded. "And we like Dad," she said seriously.

Once again, Amy's eyes met Sheldon's beautiful blue ones and she murmured, "Indeed we do." He smiled back.

Then she shook her head. "Okay, this room is Japan and the cable is buried in the opening between the dining room and sunroom, but we don't know that. We'll need -" Ada got up to stand next to her " - something to measure angles - Sheldon, does Siri have a protractor app? - and we'll have to assume known landmarks . . ."

They set to work, Belle watching from her perch on the back of the sofa, Ada asking lots of challenging questions, Sheldon offering helpful suggestions that made Amy look over at him in gratitude, until his white board was filled with sines and cosines and the exact location of the imaginary line between the two rooms was uncovered.

"That was fun!" Ada said, sitting on the wooden floor and touching it as though there really were enemy war communiqué beneath it. The she looked up at Amy and asked, "Can I do surveying for the science fair? Mom, will you help me?"

Hesitating for just a second, not because Amy didn't want to help her daughter with her science fair project, but because she was wondering if she should inquire into Ada's previous opposition to just that activity, she was asked again, more urgently, "Please, Mom? It's so boring when only boys win! We have to beat them!"

Amy smiled and glanced over at Sheldon by the whiteboard, who was positively beaming. "I'd love to."

Ada got up and launched herself at Amy, wrapping her arms tight around her. "Oh, Mom, you're the best!"

* * *

 _ **Perhaps you're wondering "Why another Book Club?" I honestly always expected that I'd write another meeting someday, that I'd read a book and I'd just know it belonged in my Shamy Book Club. I recently read a flurry of women-in-science books, and, at first, it seemed a crime that I didn't have them earlier for Shamy to read together; but then, I remembered there are all those incidental meetings, and I just knew that they already *had* read them. It just wasn't written down yet.**_

 ** _Does that mean there will be more chapters? Probably, some day. I'm not going to seek them out, but I will write if and when inspiration strikes. Until the next meeting . . ._**

 ** _Thank you, as always, in advance for your reviews._**


	2. The Summer Book

**. . .**

* * *

 **The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

 **November 2055**

 **Primary Topic: _The Summer Book_ by Tove Jansson**

* * *

The ringing of the telephone so early in the morning startled them.

It occurred to Sheldon, in those nanoseconds before he opened his mouth to speak, what an archaic thought that was. No one had a telephone any more, and even the tiny personal computing and communication devices they all carried and that they still called phones certainly didn't ring. The choice of alert methods was dizzying: millions of sounds, yes, but also thumps and pulses against one's skin, or, the newest rage, a sort of contact lens that would cause flashes of various patterns of light in one's vision. Perhaps because he and Amy were - he hated to admit it - old, they had chosen a simple, pleasant three-note cord. Timeless, they had reasoned with one another.

Regardless, that November morning, he looked over at his wife of forty-plus years, still in her nightgown and robe, eating breakfast, and answered the not-ring of the not-telephone, "Yes, Computer?"

"Phone call from Jacob Wolowitz." Even the computer did it.

He and Amy shared a brief glance of concern. Not because Jacob ever concerned them, but rather because it was an established fact that he was not a morning person. "Put him through."

"I'm so sorry to bother you so early in the morning," came their son-in-law's voice and holo-face hovering above the edge of the table, as clear and crisp as if he were a ghost sitting at breakfast with them.

Amy shifted to see the hologram better and answered, "It's always fine, Jacob. We were up, anyway. Is everything okay?"

"I need your help. It's the storm." The previous night there had been a serious thunderstorm, complete with an autumn tornado warning. Sheldon and Amy had sheltered in their bathroom, playing an impromptu game of Counterfactuals in their pajamas. Climate change was real, and she was making up for all those years that some refused to believe in her. "I had the morning off to take Claude to see Santa, but I have to go in to work now. Some of the Japanese cherry trees have been damaged."

"Oh, Ada will be disappointed," Amy said with a frown. The trees had been a gift to the university in her name.

"I know," Jacob agreed with a slight grimace. "Anyway, the problem is I need someone to take Claude to see Santa. We have an appointment at nine. And, of course, Ada left yesterday for her conference."

"Santa Claus? It's still technically November. Until 11:59 p.m.," Sheldon protested.

Amy shifted her gaze to him. "Christmas season has started at Halloween for decades now, and you know it."

A slight grunt. "Doesn't make it right," he muttered. Then he asked, louder, "Santa Claus takes appointments now? On a Monday morning?"

"It's sensory Santa," Amy explained. "There's an appointment when the mall is normally closed so that there is less stimulation."

"Oh." Sheldon swallowed.

"One of us will be there as soon as we can," Amy said in a confident and reassuring tone to holo-Jacob.

"Thank you! And, I'm sorry, but do you mind telling me which one of you? So I can tell Claude."

"Oh, yes, of course." Amy looked over at Sheldon and said, quietly, "I would love to do it, but the quilting circle is kicking off our annual charity drive this morning and I'm the chairwoman."

Another swallow. "Let me shower and get dressed," Sheldon called louder than necessary toward the hologram.

"Thank you so much! See you in a bit!"

Jacob rang off (again!) and Amy reached over the small table to press Sheldon's hand. "Thank you. I'm sure it will be fine. Just don't think about the differences."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking my grandson to see Santa Claus," Sheldon replied, perhaps too harshly, but it was better than admitting it wasn't the differences between Claude and the neuro-average children with which he struggled.

It was how much he and Claude had in common.

* * *

As a young boy, Sheldon hated Santa Claus. He had for as long as he could remember. It wasn't just the red-suited man, it was everything that went along with him. There would always be an outing to the mall to meet him, and no amount of tantrum throwing or rational explanations as a young child had excused him from the exercise. There would be a new, appropriately "festive" outfit to wear, something that matched his siblings in an embarrassing way, something that itched at his skin causing him to scratch and scratch and scratch like a flea-ridden mongrel. The mall was too loud to his sensitive ears, the warbling of the Christmas songs drowned out only by the masses of screaming children. The lights were too bright, and the huge, shiny ornaments hanging from the ceiling reflected their glare. It was crowded, and the heat and germs from all those bodies of strangers, pressing and touching him, caused young Sheldon to break out into a sweaty panic. Every picture, every year, next to perfectly posed Missy, stood a red, sweaty, frowning little boy.

Then there was the big man himself. What a load of malarkey! Besides the obvious fact that it broke so many laws of nature for him to even exist, there was no way he could deliver presents to all the children on the entire planet in a single night. The physics just didn't work. And the clairvoyance into one's behavior? That was a lie, too. George Jr. did horrible, horrible things to Sheldon all year long and he still got a BB gun or another device with which to further torture his younger brother every Christmas morning. But Sheldon, who thought he was bearing up the best he could under the circumstances, never got what he asked Santa for. Which was not surprising as the year he asked for a centrifuge, jolly ol' Saint Nick actually laughed at him, there in the mall, and said, "A centrifuge? What is that?" Apparently jolly was a synonym for stupid.

It had been Sheldon's intention to ban Santa from Ada's upbringing, but Amy had employed wiles like her green wrap dress and Date Night and her superb bargaining skills to convince him that it would be harmless. She even promised no trips to the mall; they would help Ada write a letter at home instead. And, for a few brief years, Sheldon found himself grinning on Christmas morning, when Ada rounded the corner into the great room, her face breaking open in pure joy as she saw what Santa Claus had brought her. Ada's Santa always brought her what she asked for; Amy filtered out inappropriate requests during the letter-writing exercise.

It was Amy and Ada that gave Santa Claus back to Sheldon, teaching him the small joys to be found in a harmless superstition. Not that he ever admitted such a thing.

So, he was surprised when young Olmsted and Maxine had been trotted to the mall to see Santa, but Ada had no bad memories of the experience and Jacob had always gone as a child. He was given to understand that his older grandchild enjoyed the experience, although clever little Maxine sussed out that Santa wasn't real on her own. Not privy to these outings, other than a photo after the fact, Sheldon didn't dwell unduly on them.

As the monorail came to a halt at the appropriate stop and Sheldon alighted, walking the two blocks to Ada and Jacob's house, he realized he wasn't sure if Claude had ever been taken to see Santa before. Photographic evidence had yet to be presented.

"Oh, Sheldon, thank you so much for doing this," Jacob said even as he opened the front door to his father-in-law's approach. "You're a real lifesaver."

"Of course." Sheldon nodded. "Good morning."

"Claude, PopPop is here!" Jacob called as Sheldon stepped over the threshold. He looked back at Sheldon. "The appointment is at nine. Do you know where it is? You can use the entrance by Macy's, the one attached to the station. Here, let me send you the confirmation." There were a few brief taps by Jacob on his watch, and Sheldon's own wrist vibrated at having received the information. "It's all paid for in advance, the picture and everything. You'll be able to take him to preschool, afterwards, right? They know he'll be late."

"Of course." Sheldon followed Jacob into the dining room, where Claude was still sitting at the table, finishing his Cheerios.

"Claude, I told you PopPop was here," Jacob said sternly. "Remember what you've learned about etiquette?"

"Good morning, Claude," Sheldon said, smiling and looking down into the boy's blue eyes.

"Hello, PopPop," the little boy replied, but his eyes quickly shifted away. Sheldon was relieved to see that, although his shirt was red, it still appeared like his grandson's normal soft clothing. No scratchy outfits here.

"Are you excited to see Santa Claus?" Sheldon asked.

The little boy shrugged. Jacob picked up the box of cereal and moved into the kitchen. Sheldon shifted his feet and looked over at the wall. There was a chart there, on a whiteboard. **Claude's Day** in Ada's handwriting at the top although the rest was written by Jacob. Of course, Ada was out of town. Even though Claude couldn't read yet, Sheldon knew his daughter believed, as he and Amy had, in exposing her children to the written word from birth.

The first column listed the itinerary under the heading **Expected** :  
 _morning: visit Santa at the mall with Dad  
_ _lunch: turkey cheese roll-ups, carrot sticks, hummus  
_ _afternoon: school - visual day (neon signs)  
_ _evening: dinner out with Nana and PopPop, Maxine's piano recital_

The second column was **Reality** and was blank other than next to morning, which now said, in rather scrawled print:  
 _visit Santa at the mall with PopPop_

The third column contained magnets of emoji-like faces. Afternoon was a slight smiling face ( _routine is good_ , Sheldon guessed), evening was a determined-looking face ( _be good and quiet and brave in public?_ ), but there were two next to the morning. A red face with angry eyebrows and a grinning face.

"Claude, why are there two faces here?" Sheldon asked softly, crouching down to touch the magnets.

"PopPop makes me happy."

Sheldon turned and smiled as the little boy slid off his chair and walked over. "You make me happy, too." Looking back the board, he continued, "But you were angry with the change in schedule?"

"Yes," Claude whispered. "Angry is okay if I use a face and not a scream."

"That's correct. It's normal to feel angry at a change in routine as long as we do not allow the anger to cause us to engage in inappropriate behavior." Sheldon nodded. He took the angry face off the board. "You know what? I was angry, too, with the change in schedule. I had plans to go to my office today. But," Sheldon put the angry face back and picked up the smiley face, "I think it will be more fun to spend the morning with you and now I'm not angry anymore." He put the smiley on top of the angry face, completely covering it, and turned to look at his grandson. Claude was watching the board, not him. "I'm also -" Sheldon reached for an extra face with a wavy mouth from the collection at the bottom of the board and put it on the line "- nervous about seeing Santa Claus. I haven't seen Santa at this mall before and that can be scary. Don't you think?"

Claude nodded.

"We can be happy and nervous together," Sheldon said. "Would that be acceptable to you?"

"Yes."

There was a cough and Sheldon looked up to see Jacob standing in the doorway. "Sorry, but I really need to be going."

"We should be, too," Sheldon said, standing. His knees gave him a brief twinge and popped as he stood. He was getting too old, perhaps, to be crouching. "Let's get your coat, Claude."

* * *

The last of Jacob's instructions ringing in their ears ("If you're a good boy and hold onto PopPop's jacket on the train, he won't have to touch your hand."), Sheldon watched his grandson watching the city fly beneath them from the monorail window. The little boy's grip remained firm on hem of his grandfather's jacket, just as promised, although Sheldon had felt it tensing from when they entered the noisy and crowded station. But he raced for a window seat, tugging Sheldon along, when the train arrived. This was something else they had in common; Claude liked trains, too

"Computer, show me the document Jacob sent," Sheldon whispered into his wrist and the holo-document floated in the air in front of him. A confirmation of the appointment and payment, and then list of reminders "we encourage you to read to your child." Sheldon didn't read them aloud; he had no doubt that it had already been done.

"- There may be a line to see Santa. I may have to wait. I may feel impatient.  
\- There will be elves and other helpers with Santa. I will see several new people. I may feel crowded. I may feel frightened.  
\- There may be Christmas music playing. I will hear new sounds. I may feel confused.  
\- I may sit on Santa's lap if I like. I may hug Santa if I like. But I may also sit or stand next to him without touching. It is my choice.  
\- Santa will ask what I want for Christmas. I may tell him, but he will understand me even if I do not speak. I may feel shy."

Sheldon grunted softly at the last one and murmured, "Close document." He looked out the window, over Claude's head, and said, "The next stop is ours."

Almost immediately, their stop was announced and the train slowed. Claude's grip tightened again, but he never let go as Sheldon walked them off the train, through the station proper, and out the exit that lead directly the mall. The grip loosened as they entered the quiet and dim space. The stores weren't open yet, and there were only a couple of people walking laps. "This way," Sheldon said, following the signs.

He had thought the end of the hallways would be lit and loud, just as he remembered from his childhood, but he was pleased to see the lights were dim even here and no Christmas music was playing. Santa was visible in the distance, a little girl standing in front of him and flapping her arms. Sheldon looked away quickly, spotting a smiling woman in the elf costume.

"Do you have an appointment with sensory Santa?" she asked softly. Not at all like the overly loud and falsely cheery elves from Sheldon's childhood.

"Yes. Nine o'clock. Claude Wolowitz."

The elf looked down at her tablet and touched it. "Here you are." She then bent down to Claude's level. His grip tightened again on Sheldon's jacket, and Sheldon saw him look down, not meeting the elf's eyes. "Hello, Claude. You're eight minutes early. Someone else is with Santa right now. Would you like to draw or play before you see Santa? It will be eight minutes."

Claude nodded but didn't reply. The elf looked up at Sheldon. "Umm, drawing maybe."

She smiled and waved them to follow her to a small, curtained off space. There was a child height-table in the middle with crayons and paper. "Will a timer be needed?" she asked.

Frowning, Sheldon realized he didn't know. How did he not know this about his grandson? Would the ticking just upset him or would the precision and knowledge be welcome? "Um, I don't think so."

"I will come for you when Santa is ready."

"Thank you."

Sheldon looked around the small, silent space after she left. This was nothing like his experiences with Santa. Then he looked down at his grandson. "Would you like to draw? You often do at home. You get that from your mother."

Claude nodded and let go of Sheldon's jacket, moving to the table. Sheldon watched as he carefully selected a sheet of paper, smoothing it out on the table, and then just as studiously selected a crayon from the cup. The little boy looked back at him. "Are you going to draw, too?"

"Oh. I suppose I can." Sheldon glanced around and pulled a folding chair closer, even though he had to spread his knees and bend over the table. It wasn't very comfortable, but Claude seemed content to draw next to him.

"I used to draw with your mother when she was even younger than you," Sheldon said softly. "We did geometry."

"Geometry is shapes and you use math to find the lengths of the sides."

"Exactly!" Sheldon smiled over at the boy, but he was busy drawing.

"Have you considered what you want for Christmas?" Sheldon asked.

Claude just shrugged. "Max says Santa isn't real but Olmy says I can't tell Mama I know."

Sheldon's eyebrows shot up. He knew he couldn't reply. Ada - and Amy, and that was even more terrifying - would be furious if he had a part, no matter how peripheral, in ruining this Christmas myth.

"Who are the figures you are drawing?" He tried a different tactic, looking away from his icosahedron to study Claude's drawing. There were two stick figures with black hair and they seemed to be smiling.

"You and me."

"Oh." Sheldon was surprised to find a lump in his throat and he swallowed it. "Are we holding hands? You don't like to hold hands. But I don't either," he added quickly.

"You hold Nana's hand all the time."

Before Sheldon could reply to this unexpected insight into his grandson's power of observation, there was a soft "Excuse me" from behind the curtain and the same female elf appeared. "Santa is ready to see you now, Claude."

"I want to draw more."

"Claude," Sheldon said, putting his crayon back in the cup, "we need to go see Santa now. It is our appointment time. It was on our schedule."

"But I don't want to see Santa!" Claud said loudly, throwing his own crayon on the table with enough force that it bounced off and skittered to the floor. "I want to draw with PopPop!"

"It's okay," Sheldon stood, "you can draw with me another time. We can do geometrical shapes, if you like."

"No! No Santa! No!" The little boy pounded his fists on the short plastic table, making everything on it bounce, and Sheldon looked over at the elf and made a hopeless gesture.

"Santa will be available for fifteen minutes," she said softly. "I'll be just outside when you're ready."

Grateful that at least she wouldn't see this meltdown, even if there was no doubt she could hear it, Sheldon directed his attention back to his grandson, who was still shouting.

"Claude Cooper Wolowitz, remember when we talked about screaming -" He stopped.

The little boy was leaning forward over the table and then back again. He was rocking in place. "No Santa! No Santa! No Santa!"

Sheldon closed his eyes and saw it all. The elves and the too-bright lights. He heard the too-loud music and bellowing Ho-ho-ho's.

He reached out for Claude and pulled him in tight in the same motion as he sat back on his heels, crouching for the second time in one morning and his knees protested. At first the boy resisted, but Sheldon held him firmly to his chest, forcing the boy's arms down with his own. And then Sheldon started rocking with him -

 _. . . his skin itched and sweated and there was thread loose on his sweater . . ._

"Shhhhhhhhhh," he shushed loudly. "I'm here. We don't have to see Santa."

 _. . . and his mother kept slapping his hand away when he tried to pick at it . . ._

"We don't have to see Santa," he hummed into Claude's ear as he lowered his lips close to it.

 _. . . but it was so wrong and uneven and he had to touch it and not fixing it hurt . . ._

"We don't have to see Santa," he hummed and he rocked.

 _. . . and the light hurt and the sound hurt and he just wanted to hum and rock_ _and George called him a retard and . . ._

"We don't have to see Santa," he hummed and he rocked.

Claude rocked with him and the screaming dissolved into tears and they rocked and Sheldon hummed, ever softer into his ear, until even the sobs stopped. Only then did Sheldon stop rocking, still holding his precious grandson close, and he whispered, "Are you better now?"

There was sniff and nod.

"Good. PopPop is going to try and get up." It wasn't easy, his knees popping and his legs hurting from such uncommon movement, but Claude let him steady his hand on his slim shoulder while he stood. "Here, I have some tissues in my bag. Can I wash your face? Will you blow your nose?"

His nose was blown and his face was cleaned and Claude even let Sheldon rub his hands with Purell from the bottle he always kept in his messenger bag. Sheldon brushed his grandson's dark hair way from his blue eyes and smiled down at him. "You need a haircut. Would you like to leave now?"

Claude nodded.

"I know it's not on the schedule," Sheldon said suddenly, licking his lips, "but I find a strong cry makes me hungry. Would you like to go to McDonalds? I'm sure we can get a sensory booth this time of day."

The blue eyes looked up in amazement. "Mama says McDonalds is bad food."

"Well, that's hypocritical."

"What's hypocritical?"

"Funny you should ask," Sheldon started, turning and pulling the curtain to step out of the little space.

The elf was there and she smiled as Sheldon looked at her. "Thank you but -"

"Next year, maybe," she said.

"Thank you so much for understanding." He wanted to say more, but he didn't know what.

But then Claude tugged at his jacket as they walked away from Santa. "What's hypocritical?"

"Oh, yes. It's the same root word as hypocrisy, which comes from the Greek word hypókrisis which means 'play acting' and . . ."

Claude reached up and slipped his hand into his grandfather's and held it all the way across the street to McDonalds.

* * *

She was in the kitchen when he returned, dressed in an especially heavy cardigan as she stirred a pot on the stove.

"Hello," Sheldon called to her.

"Welcome back," Amy answered as he hung his coat in the closet. "You were gone longer than I thought. I thought you'd beat me home for sure."

"Yes, it did take longer than I anticipated." He joined her in the kitchen, standing close to her, behind her silver braid, looking over her shoulder at the tomato soup bubbling away. Two perfectly toasted grilled cheese sandwiches sat on a plate next to the stove. A glance informed him that the table was already set with glasses and spoons. "It smells delicious."

"It's nothing fancy. I know it's a little early, but I thought you might be chilled, and some hot soup would be welcome." Amy turned down the flame with one hand while she tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot with the other. "Get down some bowls, will you?"

Silently, Sheldon did as she asked. He wasn't hungry, the French fries and soda having filled his stomach nicely. But he couldn't turn down Amy's thoughtful meal. It wouldn't hurt to have a few bites, would it? And he _was_ chilly; maybe he should start wearing the henley sweater Amy had knit for him last year. She had knit it tightly with a thin but incredibly soft thread so that it wouldn't look very different then his usual tee shirts and so that it wouldn't chafe his delicate skin.

"So, how was Santa Claus?" Amy asked.

"An overweight Caucasian man in a red suit," Sheldon replied stepping next to her again to hand her the bowls.

Amy chuckled and turned closer to him, but her chuckle stopped abruptly with a deep intake of breath, her nose almost touching his tee shirt. Sheldon saw her eyebrows raise. "Ah, I see."

Sheldon tilted his head at this. The whole sequence of events was memory-triggering; Amy used to do that a lot when Ada was small and they'd come back from Stuart's comic book store. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Amy could smell the odors of a McDonalds restaurant upon him. He shook his head slightly. No, of course not. Amy had never approved of the nutritional make-up of McDonalds' food, and it seemed highly unlikely that she'd let it pass without comment for so many years.

Instead, she filled the bowls and handed them to him to carry to the table. Amy gathered the sandwiches and followed. "So, everything went well, then?"

Sitting down, Sheldon paused a second and then said, "Yes, I think you could phrase it that way. It wasn't what I expected but, yes, it would be accurate to say it ended well. We can report such to Ada."

"Huh," Amy said softly. But then she continued as she sat down, spreading her napkin over her lap. "Book Club? We won't be home this evening."

Sheldon nodded. There had been a time that he had protested having Book Club Night in the middle of the day. But now, after so many years, he had come to accept that the only thing worse than the incongruence between the official title and timing of the event would be to not have Book Club at all.

Without preamble, Amy started, "I read the most fascinating article about the lack of grandparents in modern literature - real grandparents, not some sort of mid-life crises grandparent - and the article mentioned this book as one of the few in which there was a realistic grandparent/grandchild relationship. I know that it bothered you to read a book entitled _The Summer Book_ in the autumn, but I was curious and it was a theme I wanted to explore."

"Hmmm," Sheldon murmured as he swallowed his first bite of soup. He hadn't once verbalized his discomfort in the incongruity between the title and the current season of the year. And yet Amy knew. "I have two questions. What is the grandparent in mid-life crisis genre you reference?"

"Oh, you know. The grandmother is a widow by a year or something and her adult child thinks she'd gone crackers just because she wants to downsize and sell the family house, but really she wants to move to a new condo or retirement community and embrace the art classes and eccentric neighbors she never got to experience when her children were young and her husband was alive. The grandchildren in these stories are always over-scheduled, precocious, and very rarely on the page. The book is called something like 'Fireflies in Mason Jar on a Porch Swing in High Summer.' Because it takes place in the South. Always. Pointless." Amy said the last two words as some sort of final pronouncement on the subject and took a bite of her grilled cheese.

Sheldon's eyebrows had gradually risen as Amy had been explaining in far more detail than he had anticipated. "If it's so pointless, how do you know so much about it?"

Amy waved her hand. "A lot of the women here read those types of books. The take-one-leave-one shelf in the library is littered with them."

"Didn't we downsize and move to a retirement community and don't we take classes and have eccentric neighbors?" Sheldon had very quickly learned there is no population more eccentric - and opinionated - than retired professors. Not him or Amy, though, of course; they were retired researchers, not professors.

"We don't live in the South," Amy said with a shake of her head.

"I'm from the South."

"Yes, but not anymore. We don't have mason jars and a porch swing."

Sheldon considered this and then nodded, taking another bite. Well, that was true.

"Most importantly, I like to think Ada and Jacob don't think we're losing our minds and they genuinely enjoy being with us," Amy said firmly.

"I would have said that the most important difference is that we're not widowed, but that's true, too." Sheldon paused. "And we spend a lot of time with our grandchildren."

Amy smiled at him as she chewed.

"So, you read this book as a counterpoint to books in which grandparents don't spend time with their grandchildren. That leads to my second question: You were hoping for a realistic portrait of that relationship, correct?" Amy nodded. "Were you pleased? Was it accurate, do you think?"

His wife sighed as she lowered her glass of water. "I don't know. There were so many differences: the location was different, the family structure was different, there were cultural differences, there was a time difference - this book is quite old, it was published in the 1970s. I couldn't decide if it was that the relationship was different or that it was all those outside influences on it making me think it was different."

"In some ways, children never change. Sophia in this book asks illogical and impertinent questions. She is not always well-behaved," Sheldon said. "All three of our grandchild have their own personalities - and none are exactly like Ada was at their respective ages, although Olmsted reminds me very much of Jacob - and yet they all display those tendencies as well."

"That is true. But I do not mean to sound negative about the child in this book. Sophia is very imaginative. She induces her grandmother to play games with her, to write a book about worms, to build the miniature Venice. Just as we have embraced tasks with our grandchildren over the years, even if they are not our personal hobbies," Amy pointed out.

Sheldon replied, "Yes. Grandchildren are strange, aren't they?"

"What do you mean?" Amy asked, her eyebrows going up slightly.

"I mean that with Ada, there were games and imaginings and, yes, misbehaving, too." Amy smiled softly and nodded. "But, now, it's different. Even though I often find myself in need of nap after they leave, I feel more removed from the struggles, the worries about their futures, and I find their presence, even when they are loud and rambunctious, quite . . . " he paused, searching for a suitable word to explain the uncanny exhilaration of those times. "Purely enjoyable."

Amy reached across the small table to rest her hand on his, and he turned his palm up on instinct to grasp it before realizing that was what he was doing. Perhaps Claude was correct.

"I never meant to imply you don't enjoy your grandchildren. I know you do. I can see how much you love them, and they know that, too." She glanced down at the table and looked back up. "Are you sure it all went well? You seem . . . well, pensive and overly-exact."

He looked away from her eyes, looking across to the large picture window and the bare landscape beyond. The last of the leaves had been lost in the storm the previous night, and they lay wet and huddled on the ground. "You like it when I'm pensive and overly-exact."

For years, Amy had this tactic she used in which she didn't reply. Instead, she let the silence stretch and grow between them. It was like getting into a hammock, the weight of it bending ever closer to the ground, the strings compressing tighter into his skin. It was a strange mixture of discomfort and security, because he knew that Amy's love would not break beneath the weight of her silence.

Finally, as it always had been, Sheldon could not bear it any longer. But he did not turn his head away from the window, even as his thumb caressed the edge of her fingers. "We didn't make it to Santa Claus. Claude became upset."

"And?" It was so gentle, it was almost a whisper.

"I held him. I rocked with him. I hummed with him. I told him he didn't have to see Santa if he didn't want to. Crisis averted."

"And?"

He closed his eyes and saw it all. The elves and the too-bright lights. _He heard the too-loud music and bellowing Ho-ho-ho's. His skin itched and sweated and there was thread loose on his sweater and his mother kept slapping his hand away when he tried to pick at it but it was so wrong and uneven and he had to touch it and not fixing it hurt and the light hurt and the sound hurt and he just wanted to hum and rock and George called him a retard and -_

"And there are days I wish I didn't have the memory I do."

Then someone did hold him and she rocked against his shoulder and she hummed into his ear, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

Sheldon kept his eyes closed as he reached up to hold her forarms with his palms, pulling them tighter around his neck, listening to the soft, soothing sounds of her love in his ear. Finally, all the memories were gone but those of her and the family he'd created with her and he patted her hands gently to let her know.

Amy stood up but she left one hand on his shoulder as Sheldon kept holding it, unable to let it go just yet. "I was thinking we should buy Claude a white board for Christmas. One of his own, to use as he sees fit," he said.

"I think that's a lovely idea," Amy whispered and kissed the top of his head before she reached down for his barely touched soup bowl.

* * *

 _ **First of all, thank you for reading this despite the delay in updates. I really did mean it when I said I'd only be updating when a book and/or plot struck me as being right for this version of Shamy.**_

 _ **After I finished the "official" Book Club, shamour asked for a story about Sheldon and his grandson, Claude. I agreed with her that was something I wanted to explore, but I just didn't have a plot idea yet. Then, this past Christmas, my local mall held its first ever Sensory Santa event and there was a write-up about it in the newspaper on Christmas Eve. Inspiration struck.**_ _ **I wrote the story shortly thereafter but was going to save it for this coming Christmas to post it. However, in the interim, CBS announced the new show**_ **Young Sheldon** _ **. Since my story clearly travels into similar territory, I thought it was best to share it now.**_

 _ **As always, my dear readers, thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	3. Picasso at the Lapin Agile

**. . .**

* * *

 **The Fowler Cooper Publication Federation**

 **January 2043**

 **Primary Topic: _Picasso at the Lapin Agile_ by Steve Martin**

* * *

This is what winning the Nobel Prize got you.

Amy looked around her empty new lab and sighed. She was not used to being alone anymore. First it was her choice, to have undergraduate assistants a day or two a week and then she needed more help with her landmark study and then everyone clamored to work with her. For she was a Nobel Prize winner.

But, for now, the lab was empty, as she has sent everyone out to complete tasks elsewhere and then suggested they take a long lunch. She was struck, now that she was alone, the same way she was struck the first time she saw it. Yes, it was shiny and new and state-of-the-art, but it lacked something. She would have said soul, but she made the mistake of saying that two months ago to Sheldon, after seeing it for the first time, and he scoffed at her. But then he'd squeezed her hand, so he understood her after all. As he always did in the end.

Not only had the world changed in twenty years, but her little world of the lab had changed, too. There were robotic and computerized assistive devices to perform the most menial of tasks, and station after station of complex computers to perform everything else. Even something as essential to her job as slicing the brain for slides wasn't done anymore, the tomographic programs analyzing and virtually slicing a whole brain on the screen, almost instantaneously giving output after output of data, more data than Amy even needed, and all it took was a simple turn of the mouse or voice command to rotate the three dimensional image of something a few microns thick still attached to its whole. It boggled her mind sometimes. No pun intended.

She'd learned not to say aloud that it boggled her mind. She knew she was considered old-fashioned and quaint for the way she insisted on teaching each of her assistants how to properly slice a brain the old way. The way she'd learned, the way she'd done it for years. It wasn't even taught anymore. But still they came, these young people, younger than Ada now, so very young, to learn in her lab, even if they giggled and said it seemed so barbaric. Because she was a Nobel Prize winner, and, even before that, well respected in her field if not famous in the traditional sense, if not famous like her daughter.

But this is what she wanted to teach them: science is barbaric. It's a physical struggle, not a voice command. Now you could inject a patient with dye and watch the scan on your computer screen as their Fowler-Bonnet micro-neurotransmitters lit up like fireworks. But there was a time, twenty years ago, when Charles Bonnet was just a quaint footnote in ophthalmic history and Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler was slicing a brain when she had an idea.

"Why the frown?"

Amy jumped, not having heard Sheldon's soft approach. She turned and smiled at him. At least this thrill was still the same: looking up to see her tall handsome husband visiting her lab, even if his temples were gray now.

"I was thinking about science."

"How could you possibly frown about that? I brought sandwiches," he added as he lifted the bag up in his hand.

"There's something about this lab, especially when it's empty. I don't think it suits me." She waved her arm toward her smaller corner office, and Sheldon followed her. There was a tiny pedestal table in the corner, for tiny meetings that she never really had, and they sat there to eat.

"But you helped with the design. Your name is on the door," Sheldon protested, unpacking the bag.

"My name is on the building."

Sheldon tilted his head as he passed her a napkin. That was the extent of his reply. Perhaps she shouldn't have said it.

The Fowler Center for Neuroscience had not been her idea. It would have never been her idea. The lab was already under construction when the Nobel announcement came, but Caltech had capitalized on the publicity they received for the purely coincidental timing of the ribbon-cutting ceremony one month later. Amy had suggested, as casually as she thought she could, that Sheldon didn't need to come. Left unsaid was the unavoidable fact that she was the second person he loved to get what he so desperately desired. But he'd come anyway and proudly stood next to her and smiled when she cut the ribbon amidst the flashes of the hovering camera drones.

"Sheldon, I -" "Book Club?"

They looked up at each other and smiled. Amy tried again. "Maybe I shouldn't have -"

"You deserve every building in the world, Amy. Now, it's Book Club Day and, as we have plans this evening that you insist we keep, this lab will have to do."

"We have to keep them!" Amy said, taking a bit of her sandwich.

"So you tell me."

"We have gone to every single one of Penny's movie and television show premieres, it is only fitting we go to Fawn's first one."

After swallowing, Sheldon said, "But I assumed her generation would be the ones to go."

"I'm sure they all want to, but many of them are in college now or live elsewhere. Fenny and Frances are coming. Ada told me she and Jacob wanted to come, but they're saving all their time off for their parental leaves this summer," Amy pointed out. It still seemed strange to say the words, to imagine her baby having a baby.

"In that case, we need to have Book Club, otherwise I'm afraid I won't understand this movie at all," Sheldon replied.

"I doubt that." Amy chuckled and pulled her iKindle out and put in on the table, in case she needed to locate a quote for their discussion. "As you no doubt surmised, I picked this book because Fawn's movie is about it. Or this play here is a play within a play within a movie or something like that."

"Do you think Steve Martin is rolling over in his grave?" Sheldon asked, eating more of his sandwich.

"Hmmm, I don't know." Amy thought as she took a bite herself. "No, I don't think so. After all, it's a bit of absurdist work on its own, and I think he would have appreciated that someone still considers it relevant to do a sort of homage to it in a film."

"But what if this movie is absurdist, too? Not only does it sound like the worst possible way to spend our Friday evening, is that disrespectful to the playwright of the inspirational material?" Sheldon asked.

"In principle, I don't think so, but we'll we see out it plays out," Amy said with a shrug.

"Pun intended?"

She glanced up at his smiling face. "No, happy accident." A pause. "And, back your previous question, you don't think Ada's work is disrespectful to Picasso and all the other cubist artists in history, do you?"

"Of course not! It's superior!"

Amy smiled softly. "It's the same question, though. She took a form of art, cubism in her case, and she turned it around, changed the angle so that you could see all the equations."

"Maybe," Sheldon relented. "So, Picasso. How interesting that's he's both in this play and so influential to Ada. And yet I don't like him one bit."

"Because, whether or not you personally care for his works, he changed art in the twentieth century," Amy explained. "It would hard to deny that, although of course I'm sure there have been detractors that have tried. I'm sure it's why he was chosen as one the principle characters in this play. He represents the forthcoming - at the time of the play - future of art and Einstein represents the forthcoming future of physics."

"It pleased me that Einstein had a bigger role; clearly science is more important than art," Sheldon said quickly.

"Don't let Ada hear you say that."

Sheldon gave the little snort/laugh Amy adored.

"Besides," Amy continued, "I'm not sure Einstein has a bigger part. Yes, he's in the bar first but he leaves and Picasso stays, remember? I wonder if there's some symbolism to that."

"That even a great scientist's work can be disproven with time, but that a piece of art will always retain the same element of truth, because it is a subjective truth?" Sheldon asked.

Amy grinned over the top of her water bottle at him. Dear, wonderful Sheldon.

"What?" he asked, mid-chew.

"I was just thinking how Book Club has changed, too."

"Changed, _too_?" He raised a single eyebrow, always her undoing.

Shaking her head softly, Amy explained, "Before you came, I was thinking about my lab and my work, how much it's changed since I started. Sometimes progress makes me . . . nostalgic, I guess, for simpler times. Well, not Book Club in the same way," she added in a rush. "I mean, I am nostalgic for our early Book Clubs only because they're such happy memories. But I love the progress Book Club has made. But scientific progress . . . makes me . . . I don't know."

Her husband swiveled his head around her office, looking through the glass windows to the empty lab beyond. "But, as a scientist, surely you appreciate the advances. The good they lead to in the lives of everyone."

"I do." Amy sighed. She thought of Sheldon's office, unchanged over the years. Yes, his computer was smaller, but he still had the same space and he still worked at whiteboards, even if some were electronic now and saved his work on hard drive. The lack of updates was partially fueled by his dislike of change, but it was also because so much of his job remained in his head. A part of Amy envied him, and she couldn't even explain why. So she didn't try; she shook her head into another bite instead. "Never mind. I'm doing a poor job of articulating it. Let's talk about the book instead. What was your favorite part?"

"The math and scientific examples."

Well, at least _that_ never changed. But she asked, "What do you think of the idea that a group of lines can change the world?"

"I'm whole-heartedly with Einstein on this. A scientist's group of lines mean something, they touch the head, they will change the future," Sheldon said succinctly.

"But others have to be open to receiving that change, he says that, too, when Picasso hands him his drawing. No one was ready to hear Galileo champion heliocentrism, for example," Amy pointed out. "Or why does't one man think of something before someone else? What made Picasso and Einstein change the world when others before them maybe could have done it by accident if nothing else?"

"You and I both know great thoughts don't happen by accident," Sheldon said, shifting in his seat. "You worked years on your theory, proving it was a fact. And then, after you, others worked on it more, developing the practical applications for modern medicine. What I worked on this morning could, in time, earn me the Nobel Prize. But I have to refine and distill it first."

"Do you believe in coup des fondres?"

"Bolts of lightning? The atmospheric discharge of electricity? What an odd question."

"No, not that. I meant it in the French sense -"

"The French have lightning, too," he mumbled.

" - as in a sudden inspiration. It _did_ take years to prove my theory, but it honestly came to be all at once, the germ of the idea. I know you've had moments like that before, I've seen them," Amy explained, folding up the paper in which her sandwich had been wrapped. Amy loved those moments, when she saw Sheldon's entire being change and he stood up straighter, the way his eyes sparked, his eyebrows first dipping and then vaulting upwards, just before he lifted his hand to scribble on his white board. For a man who was achingly handsome even when he was sick and cranky, the brilliance of his allure in those moments was almost blinding.

"'If I can think it, I can draw it,'" Sheldon quoted, and Amy sat back to enjoy him reciting something he'd memorized without even trying. It was one of her favorite facets of Book Club. "'I used to have an idea; then a month later, I would draw it. The idea was a month ahead of its execution. Now the idea is ahead of the pencil only by minutes. One day, they will be simultaneous. Do you know what that's like? If you can think it, you can draw it? The feeling of clear, undiluted vision?'" He looked more closely at her. "Like that?"

"Yes, like that."

Sheldon sighed. "I thought I've had moments like that. But I guess not."

Amy bit her lip and looked down, regretting her question. She started to gather their trash. She remembered the morning - the middle of the night, really - when the calls came in. She'd won the Nobel Prize. Ada was the first person she talked to about it, Ada breathless with excitement for her, Amy dazed with interrupted sleep and shock. So much happened so quickly that she barely noticed Sheldon getting out of bed.

She'd found him, standing in the dark of the great room, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. He turned at the sound of her steps and he smiled at her. He never stopped smiling at her, off stage or on screen at the interviews, beside her at the ribbon cutting for this lab, applauding for her from the audience in Stockholm. It was not that she doubted his joy and pride for her; it was just that she knew it could easily coexist with disappointment. But only once had she ever seen it on his face: in those seconds before he turned in the dark, his face drawn and etched by the lights of the city out the window.

"I think you have," Amy said, trying to force all the sincerity she felt into her words. "But, and this is what I was thinking earlier, science is messy and hard and barbaric. Even Einstein didn't get immediate recognition for his ideas and work. Sometimes I worry that today's young scientists, so used to getting immediate gratification from their computer screens, won't understand that. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm not recalling it correctly, maybe it's not a bolt of lightning after all. Maybe it's like they say here, let me find it."

She reached forward and quickly found the bookmark. "Here it is:  
'Einstein: Shooting star. They hit the atmosphere and burn white.  
Picasso: I'd like to leave a long trail. A long string of fire.  
Einstein: From horizon to horizon.  
Picasso: So bright that when you look away you can still see it against your eyes.  
Einstein: I would like that . . . A retention of vision.'"

"Amy."

She looked up to see Sheldon staring at her. His face was unreadable to her, and that so rarely happened after all these years that it made her heart beat faster in concern.

Her husband, now with graying temples and bifocals in his glasses, wearing a Henley shirt that she'd introduced him too, leaned closer and put one hand over hers, causing her to lower her iKindle to the table. Then he reached up with the other and rested his fingers along her jaw. Amy found her face reaching for his touch, her head angling toward it, without any thought at all. For it's what they did.

"I should have said this months ago," Sheldon said, his voice heavy and serious, "back in October, when the announcement first came. If you are the only shooting star in my life, it will have been my honor to have lived hidden in your trail."

"Oh, Sheldon."

"No more pregnant pauses and biting your lip and watching your words. That is not the Amy I know and love. That is not the Amy I married. If you want to say it, say it. Decorum has never stopped me."

"I think I want to retire," she blurted out.

His eyebrows went up. "Retire?"

"It's this lab. It doesn't feel like me anymore. I'm not sure I'm contributing anymore."

"Pppsshh," Sheldon said softly. "You're the greatest neurobiologist of this era, of course you are. I think you'd get bored without your work, but, if you've thought this through and you've seriously considered all the options, who am I to stop you? Do you want to know what my favorite line in this play is?" Amy nodded. "'Madam Curie didn't say, "I think I've discovered radium; I better check with a man."' And who am I, in the end? Just a man."

"Sheldon!" Amy interjected, lifting her face away from his hand. "You are not _just_ a man! You are a genius and - and - well, you're the man I love -"

"Then that is sufficient for me." He touched her cheek softly with his finger and then he sat back in his chair again. "My point is that you do not need my permission. You never have; not that you've ever asked for it."

"You wouldn't have respected me if I had," Amy said with a smile.

"You're probably correct. When do you plan to retire?"

"To be honest, Sheldon, I haven't thought it through or seriously considered it. I've just had sort of an ennui for a few months now, maybe it's this lab or Ada getting pregnant, I don't know, but it was just now, when I said it, that I realized what I wanted. But I will seriously consider it now."

Sheldon nodded. "Fair enough. But I truly am concerned you'll get bored. I know you could read as much as you want, but at some point you'd probably like some sort of challenge."

"I supposed I could travel to see my grandchild more than I could if I was still working," Amy thought out loud.

"True."

"I could write a text book. I was just thinking, before you came for lunch, about scientists in the early phases of their education, things they learn or don't learn but they should. Maybe something for high schoolers. That would be a challenge."

"To dumb it down to that level? I imagine it would be."

Amy grinned. "Well, it's a thought. I'll think about it all more before I make a decision."

"Would you like my assistance with a pro-and-con chart?"

"Always."

"You know what Steve Martin wrote: 'You take a couple of geniuses, put them in a room together, and . . . wow.'"

* * *

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